Othello was feeding Benji when there was a knock at his door, he had been laying low since his party and so far everyone had avoided things and especially him. He answered the door and was surprised to see Berengar standing on the other side, "I'm still living and breathing," he turned leaving the door open for Ber to enter, "come in, I was just feeding the bottomless pit here."

Scooping up mushed corn Othello returned to feeding Benji, "What can the property of the Royal Crown do for you today Berengar?"

“Living and breathing is good,” Ber agreed as he stepped through the door and took in the now-familiar interior of Othello’s home. Almost immediately, the child with bright blond hair drew his gaze, and when he turned to close the door behind him, his lips had quirked upward. He’d never seen anyone with hair that color before; Zevran’s and even Othello’s hair had both been darker, like every other Nevermerean. Opening his mouth, he had the vague thought of commenting on that curiosity when Othello beat him to it.

The small smile faltered as he walked over to the pair, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside them at the table. “Property of the Royal Crown?” He repeated, eyes narrowed. “Who called you that?”

He didn't look at Ber as he focused on feeding Benji, "No one's said it, read between the lines Ber," he made litte noises as he playfully fed Benji, "I know what I am and we shouldn't sugarcoat it. The day the Huntsman picked me up from Coheed and the King collared me was to use me, I am what I am, I'm a monster who once one upped him...I really don't think he wants me to come back from whatever little war that's brewing."

Othello might have avoided his gaze, but Ber’s attention rested on the Gifted man as he spoke, his relatively decent mood fading with every word he heard.

It was tricky. Ber could guess, in the eyes of Nevermere and the military, at what the right response was. They would probably want him to placate the man, to promise that he wasn’t just the blunt tool that he saw himself as, but despite his position in the military, the soldier knew that to reassure Othello in such a way would be feeding him, at least on some level, a lie. Although only one of them wore a collar, they were all, in a way, the property of the Royal Crown – and after the ball, he didn’t trust the king’s intentions when it came to people like Zevran and Othello.

“Well,” He finally said, still not sure what he ought to say but willing to try all the same. “If it makes you feel better, they use the rest of us, too. It’s not quite the same, and I guess we have more of a choice, but...” His voice trailed off. When Regan had found him manning the supply closet after the ball, he had almost asked her what she would do when the king turned on her foreign-born friend. For the sake of not starting another fight while apologizing for the last one, he’d refrained, but the question still remained. He wondered if she had ever considered that, if she even had an answer. Ber did.

“If that’s true and he does want you to die, then that’s more reason to make sure you live, right?” He might have been a soldier, trained to obey orders, but the military had never managed to eradicate the street rat who sought the loopholes in every directive and who cared first and foremost about himself and his friends. He could feel the same protective anger that had driven him to stand up for Zevran at the ball beginning to rise on Othello’s behalf. “Maybe he doesn’t like you – also you’re not a monster, by the way – but until he orders you to not come back, nothing’s stopping you from doing so.” If someone told Ber to die, he would ensure that he survived purely out of spite.

Othello chuckled, "so be petty and live out of spite? That's devious Berengar, " he shrugged it off, whatever the boy was right, meh, and he ate a spoonful of corn before speaking again, "That would piss me off, but yeah I guess you're right. We'll keep that between us."

He sat a few minutes longer just stewing, "I gotta apologize to Regan? I was being nice...i ain't never done what i did for nobody...ever. I didn't even hire the whores for sex. The gifts and food were for building a closer...feeling of...togetherness between everyone. Potluck type shit."

“Spite is a powerful motivator,” Ber agreed sagely, though the shrug with which he ended the observation likely ruined the effect. But given that he couldn’t say one way or another what the king wanted with Othello, he thought that encouraging the man to survive Dresmond either way was the best he could offer. Perhaps a little devious in its own right, but he had learned that cleverness and creativity won fights that brute could not. “And I won’t tell anyone.”

Never one who shied away from silence, Ber was content to sit quietly and watch Othello feed Benji when the conversation died. He’d never spent much time around children that age, and never around one with such bright hair. Most of the kids he’d interacted with had been— Othello’s voice interrupted his musings. Ber turned to look at him.

“That would probably be a good idea, at least for what you said to her,” He admitted, lips quirking upward in a small, commiserating smile. “That was all I heard, really. Don’t know what else happened.” His voice trailed off as he considered Othello’s intentions. He believed the man when he said he meant well and wanted to foster a feeling of togetherness, but he knew, if only because he was one of them, that more than a single evening of shared food would be needed to make some of the partygoers get along.

He’d shared, what, at four or so meals with Woodwick now and still didn’t like the man.

Winters and Regan had clearly had some sort of problem with each other as well. “The thought was good.” The words came after a brief pause as he tried to figure out how to say what he meant. “But I think some people were caught off guard by who else was invited.” Ber certainly had been. “Not everyone there got along with all the other guests, and that kinda got in the way of the rest of it.”

Now Othello looked at Ber for the first time since his arrival he found himself faced with a totally new dynamic of Nevermere, "I never...thought about that, I assumed everyone I invited got a long because well," a little chuckled giggle escaped him, "we're the weirdest broken bunch of fucking people I've ever met...who doesn't like who...spill the beans."

After watching the realization spread across Othello’s features, Ber chuckled and shook his head. “Uh, no,” He confirmed, speaking of the assumption that everyone got along with each other. “Definitely not.” The soldier wouldn’t deny that there were some strange people in Nevermere’s military, but he wasn’t sure that he’d describe any of them as broken. They were all still around, weren’t they? Considering the Champion had seen much more of the world than Ber ever had, perhaps he had a better frame of reference for such judgements, but Ber didn’t think much more on it anyway.

He was too busy being distracted by the request. “Ah,” Ber began after a moment, reaching up and scratching the back of his neck. “Well, Winters and Regan don’t get along very well, though I’m not sure Winters gets along well with anyone, really. And Shannon cursed Abbott, so I don’t think either of them like the other very much either.” A pause as he tried and failed to find a way to politely explain that, for one reason or another, he personally objected to just about every guest Othello had invited. “Oh, and depending on the kind of party you’re hoping for, some of the guests—” He broke off and interrupted himself in favor of being blunt. “Woodwick, Sliva, and Mosse aren’t known for doing anything other than work, so they probably wouldn’t be the life of any party.”

Winters. Abbott. Shannon. Woodwick. Sliva. Mosse. That covered just about all of them, he thought.

This would have been very good information of course to have prior but Othello made a mental note so it wouldn't happen again...unless he could maybe fix them all...no..no. He absolutely couldn't.

"and @elletta? What about her? She's different. I met her way back in Coheed and she's kinda always," been interesting and cute and Othello still hadn't touched any base of these type of feelings before of course, "friendly."

Ber shrugged. “Ran into her a couple of times, but I don’t really know her.” She seemed okay at first glance, but really, given who he had to compare her with, that really wasn’t saying much.

"you are just a little central intelligence port huh?" Othello added sarcastically, still he moved on, "why do all these witches have these little tiffs? Most of them sound petty to me, and did you know I whooped Woodwick's behind? Yup, next day after the ball, he might be a little rough around the edges but he's kinda softer than baby shit," he giggled before adding, "but not a bad guy, he got a few hits in on me. Mosse is a good kid...do you like anyone?"

Why Othello seemed to expect Ber to have much of an opinion on someone he hadn’t interacted with a lot, he wasn’t quite sure, but he didn’t have long to ponder it. For a long moment, he simply blinked at Othello, rather amused, as the questions came as fast and varied as water droplets cascading over a waterfall. Which one to address first?

“Witches are mysterious creatures,” He said, shaking his head, deciding to start at the beginning. “And you did?” A grin. “Wish I could’ve seen that. Regan kicked his ass, too, and it was fun to watch.” By which he meant Woodwick getting beaten up. One day, Ber would get his opportunity to do the same. Only fitting for an asshole like the captain. Mosse, on the other hand? He didn’t know Mosse very well, but it seemed like the other soldier was shaping up to be another Woodwick - and the world certainly didn’t need another one of those.

Othello slipped in a third question that had Ber glancing toward him. “Like anyone?” He repeated. “I mean, I’ve got friends…” Although that hedging probably wasn’t quite what the Champion sought, he wasn’t about to venture into that kind of conversation on nothing more than suspicion.

"Yeah friends and shite, any of them marching out soon? Are you?" Othello hadn't been acquiring about "that kinda friend" he didn't care really about that (until he realized he sorta did with Elletta...ew gods feelings), "Wish I was going somewhere," secretly he was but he wasn't saying anything to anyone about it.